


More Certain in Affection

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander - All Media Types, Master and Commander - O'Brian
Genre: Age of Sail, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Undercover in a Gay Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-27
Updated: 2004-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An A/U scenario set sometime during "Post Captain."</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Certain in Affection

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Thevetia for seeing where it could go.

Stephen did not often have cause or necessity to take a room at the Asopichean Club when in London: his lodgings at The Grapes were quite comfortable and familiar. But on this occasion he decided that the club would be more fitting. His guest, newly and hastily arrived from Paris, required extreme discretion, and the Asopichean was exceedingly discreet. In some ways it was fussily traditional and stuffy; in others it was refreshingly novel. Stephen enjoyed its practical comforts and the solicitous care of its staff -- and certainly the meals were more subtle and ambitious than Mrs Broad's plain English fare. He had become a member through one of Sir Joseph Blaine's connections, and although he had not visited the club in a long while, he and Monsieur Fontaine were immediately welcomed and shown to a quiet, tastefully decorated room in the back, upstairs.

Monsieur Fontaine sat down, wringing his hands. At a nod from Stephen, the servant brought claret and water then left them alone. Fontaine drank off a glass of the claret before exclaiming in French, "Oh, what have I done? They will find me... My head will be chopped..." He sliced at the air with his hand and nearly overturned his empty glass.

Stephen poured him another. "You are quite safe and hidden here, my dear sir. You need not worry. Our mutual friend is arranging everything as we speak." He watched Fontaine's trembling hands cup the glass. He also noted the edge of the silk-wrapped parcel, tantalisingly thick, visible from under Fontaine's coat. If everything Sir Joseph believed Fontaine's parcel contained were true, the damage to Buonaparte's network of spies would be immense. Stephen had a strong desire to pluck the parcel from the man's coat and begin decoding immediately. However, it was apparent that Fontaine would need time: his agitation was too great. Stephen pursed his lips at the familiar signs: face and neck reddening, profuse sweating, involuntary jerks of the hands, elbows, and knees.

"Sir," said Stephen. "I know something of medical matters, and you must take a light meal. This establishment boasts a wonderful cook, a countryman of yours. Please agree to a light refreshment -- I must insist."

Fontaine looked up at Stephen, grateful to have a distraction from his more pressing concerns. "You are too kind, sir. I shall... yes, I shall dine with you. Thank you. Yes, it shall be very pleasant."

Stephen rang for the servant, noticing as he did so that neither he nor Fontaine were as neatly dressed as the important interview they would later face required. He scribbled a note to Mrs Broad and sent it with a messenger after he ordered their meal. Then he sat down with Monsieur Fontaine and drank a toast with him: "Confusion to Buonaparte."

\-----

Jack left Mendoza's banking agent in a puzzled state. It was the right day, had been the right hour, and Mendoza had only one agent in London. Jack, like all naval officers, was always punctual. He knew Stephen was not; but even for Stephen, this was coming it pretty high. The agent closed his door, shaking his head regretfully at Jack, who had sat, paced, sat, and paced in the little room for over three hours. Now it was late -- the light was going fast -- and Jack's early supper was wearing off. He was puzzled, hungry -- and penniless.

Surely Stephen had not forgotten, Jack thought as he navigated the filthy, crowded London streets toward The Grapes. The messenger Mendoza's agent had sent an hour earlier had returned without seeing Doctor Maturin. The agent suggested perhaps the doctor had become taken up by a patient. There was something to that, Jack thought: Stephen might be whipping someone's leg off -- although Jack had seen Stephen whip someone's leg off in far less than an hour. More likely, Jack decided with a slight exasperation, Stephen had forgotten. Stephen was far less attached to money than Jack was. It made borrowing it from him ridiculously easy -- and Jack's conscience was untroubled, for he always paid him back -- but it also made Stephen prone to forgetting its importance. And at the moment, it was of singular importance to Jack, who needed to pay off his landlord, reclaim his belongings from said landlord, hire a chaise, and proceed without the loss of a minute to Plymouth for his waiting ship before his creditors took on a more active pursuit. He also wanted to lay in some stores of his own -- he felt shabby about keeping such a meagre table on his last voyage. And of course, by meeting Stephen here, he would also have been able to take Stephen with him, ensuring, for once, Stephen's punctual arrival at the dock. It had been a very pretty plan. Until Stephen had failed to appear at the agent's.

Stephen was not at home at The Grapes. Mrs Broad apologised, and kindly offered to cook up some chops, or he was welcome to the leftover ham. Jack told her the chops would do nicely and started up the stairs. "I'll just wait for the doctor, so if you please, send them up with some beer."

"Oh, sir," said Mrs Broad, shaking her head, "I'm afraid the doctor won't be home this evening. Nor the next night neither, for he sent for his clothes and his best buckled shoes."

Jack paused on the stair. "Not coming home?" he cried. "Where has he gone, do you know?"

Mrs Broad bit her lip and shook her head, then called for William, the boot-boy. "William, where did you take Doctor Maturin's belongings?"

William shifted from one foot to the other and screwed up his face in thought. Jack, who had seen this behaviour in many a midshipman ('Please state the relationship of the sine to the degree of angle'), felt hope die within his breast. He heavily descended the stairs, wondering how much the buckles of his shoes might fetch, and if it would be enough for a coach. Then William grinned triumphantly and said, "It's number eighteen Cleves Street. I remember it exactly because I had to ask the way."

"Number eighteen Cleves Street," Jack repeated, wishing he had more than a halfpenny to give the lad (and even that most wretchedly spared).

He departed without asking the way of young William, but after an unfruitful walk in the direction he felt it should be, he found a coachman waiting for a fare who told him the route, for another sorely surrendered ha'penny.

Number eighteen Cleves Street was a fine large house in the middle of a row of identical neighbours. The windows were lit up, and Jack wondered if it was a rout: he heard faint laughter from inside. He checked his clothes -- not his best, but quite presentable, and he was glad he had worn his silk stockings although he had had little choice in the matter, since his best woollen ones were locked up in the sea-chest his landlord was holding. He straightened his hat, brushing the edge of his sleeve across the cockade as he did so, and climbed to the door.

The servant who answered greeted him with such a warmly inviting yet inquisitive smile that Jack gave his name before he was asked for it. The servant nodded his head and asked, "Whose guest, sir?"

Jack flushed slightly, for he had no idea who the host or hostess was. But the doorman's smile was still warm and inviting -- Jack had the oddest sensation that he had an ally in this man and fleetingly wondered if they had ever been shipmates. "I am here to call on Doctor Maturin, whom I understand to be a guest. Doctor Stephen Maturin."

The doorman's smile did not grow, for it was already quite generous, but he inclined his head again and said, "Please step this way, sir," and showed Jack into a tiny front parlour decorated in a relaxing blue; it reminded Jack of the Admiralty's waiting room, and when the scent of cigar smoke permeated from an adjoining room, he felt at ease here. He sat on the tasteful settee facing the open doorway and waited.

It did not seem to be a rout, he thought with some relief. He heard laughter and the murmur of conversations, but no music and no women's voices. Perhaps it was a club, although he had not noticed a sign next to the door when he entered. Some society or gathering of scientific chaps, no doubt. Laughing over curious reptiles, swapping receipts for vile physics, comparing notes on the best ways to whip one's leg off. Jack had never imagined Stephen in a social setting of his peers before, and found that he was very curious to observe Stephen in, as Stephen would put it, his natural element. He stepped to the doorway and peered around, unable to see anything for two men were standing in the entranceway, blocking his view. As he drew back, they turned to leave and noticed him.

"Aubrey?" one cried. "Jack? My word! It is you!" Jack stared into the smiling, surprised face of Charles Kempe -- was fourth on the old _Galatea_ when Jack was third; a fine sailor; something of a mathematical prodigy -- had tried in vain to improve Jack's youthful, incomplete grasp of spherical geometry with an admirable patience. Had an uncommonly pretty sister of whom Jack had seen too little; was she married now, he wondered.

Jack took Kempe's hand and shook it vigourously, delighted to see an old friend so unexpectedly. "Kempe! I wish you joy, of course. I read about that pretty little action off Cadiz in the gazette. I am sure you will be made post soon. Fine stuff. I would love to hear your account... The notice in the gazette pitifully small..."

Kempe blushed and shook his head, patting Jack's hand. He had always been a modest chap. "Thankee, Jack," he said with a soft chuckle. "But I am so... surprised to see you here. Are you a member?"

A club, then, Jack thought, smiling at Kempe's wonder. In a club for scientific coves, yes, it would certainly surprise good old Charles to see dunderhead Aubrey. But what he didn't know was that Jack had discovered his love of mathematics at last and could sine and cosine old Charles around the table.

"No, I'm not a member," Jack said. "I'm waiting for my friend. My particular friend: Stephen Maturin -- perhaps you are acquainted?"

Kempe looked at Jack with a strange, bemused smile. Jack remembered it from before: when Kempe's larboard gun crews had out-fired Jack's starboard by seventeen seconds, surprising the entire gun-deck, including the gun captains, Jack and Kempe.

"Why, no, I don't believe I have met your friend, but I shall be pleased to make his acquaintance." He touched the arm of the man standing next to him, a somewhat shorter gentleman dressed in a muted purplish grey that reminded Jack of twilight at sea. "Allow me to name my particular friend, Thomas."

Jack and the man exchanged bows, Jack casting Kempe a brief, questioning look, for Kempe had left off one of the man's names. Was it Mr Thomas, or Thomas Someone? But Kempe did not notice his oversight, and was speaking to Thomas, who tipped his hat and bade them both a good evening before leaving. Before Jack could ask about the man, the doorman returned and gave Jack a sad, sympathetic look. "I am so sorry, sir. Your friend departed a short time ago."

"Oh?" Jack hesitated, wondering where Stephen had gone and feeling slightly annoyed that Stephen hadn't waited for him -- although, of course, Stephen hadn't known Jack would follow him here.

The doorman said, "If you would like to leave a message, I will be happy to take it. He is expected back for the night."

"Oh," Jack said. "Yes..."

Kempe touched Jack's arm. "Jack, don't go yet. Come inside, and we'll wait for your friend together." He smiled at the doorman. "Patterson, this is my very good friend Jack. He will be my guest tonight. Here, give Patterson your hat. Just so. We'll find a quiet spot... I can tell you about the Cadiz action. But Jack! I have completely forgotten to wish you joy! The _Cacafuego_! However did you manage it? You must tell me every detail. Oh, I am so amazed to see you here, though I always wondered... Still, no matter now. We're all friends here."

Jack could not remember Charles ever speaking so much or so breathlessly, but was amused by it. The action off Cadiz was only a month ago, and no doubt Charles was eager to recount it with a former shipmate who could share his enthusiasm. Charles rested his hand on Jack's elbow and led him through the smoky parlour where men were sitting in small groups talking and drinking -- Jack's interested eye noticed some card tables, and he regretted his empty purse -- and into a sort of library, where there were small tables as well as the reading chairs. There were fewer men in here, sitting in groups of two, some sharing wine and cheese. The sight of cheese caused Jack's stomach to kick, and as they sat down at an empty table Jack said, "Charles, I blush to admit it, but I am most frightfully clemmed and without a coin to my name. Would you mind ordering something for the table? When my friend shows, I am sure he will pay for it."

Charles laughed. "Oh, Jack, of course, of course. You always were going after another serving of the figgy-dowdy, as I remember. Allow me. Wonderful cook they have here. The stuffed quails will make you weep from joy."

They did not make Jack weep, but they made him smile in complete satisfaction, and the excellent Stilton and even more excellent port made him pleasantly warm, comfortable, and sleepy. Charles had only stopped talking once the whole evening: when he had insisted Jack illustrate the entire _Cacafuego_ action in wine on the table. Then he had wanted to hear of the _Polychrest_: was she as strange as the rumours said? Was it true she sailed better backwards? Now Charles was recounting the Cadiz action again, inserting the details he had forgotten to include the first time, and Jack's attention, softened by the food and wine, strayed to the room and its inhabitants.

It was a fine room with dark panelled walls and a huge bookcase filled with books whose spines Jack couldn't read from where he sat. One elderly man had taken down a folio and was slowly leafing through it. Some small paintings and coloured engravings hung on the walls, but a quick glance had established that none of them were naval scenes, so Jack did not pay much attention to them. There were two tables close by where men sat talking. Jack noticed that at one, both men were not wearing coats, had their waistcoats unbuttoned and their collars open. At the other table, one chap wore a dressing gown over his shirt and breeches. But some gentlemen's clubs were quite liberal about dress, and if all scientific fellows were as careless about appearance as Stephen was, then he supposed it was not very remarkable.

The low murmur of other voices, the quiet of the room, the dark walls, and the warm, settled wine made Jack's eyes start to close. He sat up to keep himself awake, saw that it would be a losing battle, and gently broke into Charles's account of the exact calculation of the breeze off Cadiz, saying, "My dear fellow, perhaps you could show me more of the place while we wait. Stephen won't be long, I'm sure. I should like to stretch my legs."

Charles chuckled low. "I have been a dreadful bore, haven't I? This is the first time I've gone through all the manoeuvres since I dined with the admiral. Yes, of course, let's stretch our legs."

They returned to the smoky parlour, and Charles met another acquaintance who desired to talk to him. Jack caught only half of the introductions in his sleepy state and above the din of laughter and conversation, and while he politely stepped aside for men going into the library, he stood near a card table and watched the game. Some very good players, he decided. If only Stephen were here to lend him some coin; perhaps they wouldn't need to see Mendoza's agent in the morning after all. He couldn't ask old Charles -- Kempe was a younger son, very little family influence. In fact, the dues for this club must be quite reasonable for Charles to afford a membership. Jack made a note to ask Stephen about it.

The card players had been at it for a long time, clearly. They sometimes joked and were easy, but overall there was an air of steady, intense concentration. They had abandoned their coats, removed their neckcloths and opened their collars. One man at the table wore his dressing gown over his breeches only -- he was not wearing a shirt at all. Around his neck hung a silver chain with a locket, and he wore his hair loose so that it fell to his shoulders. Then Jack observed a shocking thing: the man in the dressing gown and the man to his left were cheating. Their legs touched under the table and rubbed together: a type of signal. Jack frowned, wondering if he should mention it to Charles. The man in the dressing gown put his hand on his neighbour's knee and caressed it, then lifted it quite openly -- the other players had certainly seen.

They were not cheating. Jack, who had caressed the knees of many a woman under many a table, recognised the action and its import. Calmly bewildered, he took another look around the room. The relaxed dress, the very casual air. On a settee by the fireplace a young man sat on another's lap. Behind them a man was stroking the hair of a friend who sat talking to another group of men. At another card table, two men held hands while they played another couple.

_Couple_. Jack looked away and up, quite certain now but wishing not to know. He looked at the walls... some fine pictures over by the fireplace... one of a giant bird lifting with its foot a beautiful naked youth... one of two naked men reclining by a pool... Even the pictures weren't safe. He watched the men talking, touching each other in small but significant ways, playing cards: there could be no doubt. But-- Stephen? How could it be?

Charles was beside him again, touching his arm. "I'm so dreadfully sorry for that. Jonathan is such a tiresome brute sometimes, and I dare say he will be back directly for he does so want to make your acquaintance. I did explain to him that you have a particular friend, but he can be so vulgar sometimes..."

Jack lost the rest of his words, for he was staring at Charles in mute, awkward shock. Charles Kempe? That was just as unbelievable as Stephen. He'd served with Kempe for over a year. Berthed with him. Stood up in the crosstrees with him more than once -- they had clutched each other and laughed over Jack's peculiar calculations which put the ship in the middle of the American colonies or in the China Sea. Charles Kempe was a fine sea officer: a good, friendly, honest fellow. Not one to grab at the ship's boys or bribe the foremast jacks with extra rations and tobacco. He'd never seen Charles sneaking off to the hold or calling boys into his cabin. It must be some mistake, some misunderstanding...

Charles's voice flooded back to him: "Oh, is that your friend, coming to us?"

Jack looked up and yes, yes it was. There was Stephen, staring at Jack with a calm severity and not looking away even when he stooped to speak to the short, dark, sweaty man beside him, who hurried off and disappeared up a flight of stairs. Jack opened his mouth to speak -- he was aware that he had not answered Charles, and he felt Charles's confusion -- but no sound came forth. Stephen approached, grasped his elbow, bowed to Charles and said, "My dear sir, I am delighted to meet you, and I am most grateful for your kindness in entertaining my friend in my absence. He appears to be unwell -- no doubt he has eaten too much: overindulgence, it is the same sad tale. I will see to him. I thank you, sir."

Stephen's fingers pinched Jack's elbow as he led him forth -- Jack's feet moved of their own volition -- and up the stairs. Here Jack collected himself enough to say, "Oh! Stephen, there you are. We must go back. I failed to introduce you... How rude of me."

"Hush, my dear," said Stephen into his ear, urging him forward.

\-----

Jack sat in one chair, smiling blankly with a look of total confusion at Monsieur Fontaine. Monsieur Fontaine sat in the other chair, smiling blankly at Jack. Stephen stood in front of the bed, frowning at them both as he organised his thoughts.

He must take care of Fontaine first: there was very little to do. Fontaine's parcel had been delivered to Sir Joseph, they had paid their respects to Fontaine's royal benefactor, and the servants at the Asopichean could be relied upon for their secrecy while Fontaine was a guest here: a night or two while Sir Joseph arranged for a safe passage to Fontaine's chosen destination, Nova Scotia. Stephen left the room, went below, and arranged for Fontaine's stay. As expected, the doorman, Patterson, was thoroughly understanding. Then Patterson asked in a studiously mild tone, "Do you wish to nominate for membership the other gentleman visitor? Mr Charles left word that he would support such a nomination." Stephen detected the faintest hint of intrigued amusement in Patterson's eyes -- perhaps mixed with a discreetly rakish appreciation. He pursed his lips and declared that it would be premature to speak for the other gentleman.

As Stephen climbed the stairs, he wondered why he had not told the doorman "no" outright -- perhaps it would have caused complications. He felt oddly protective of Jack at the moment: an urge to shelter his friend and see him safely returned to his natural environment. How had he come to be here in the first place, so clearly ill-at-ease?

When he opened the door, Jack started in his chair, relaxed when he saw it was Stephen, then resumed his blank and confused staring. Stephen spoke quietly in French to Monsieur Fontaine, who was pleased to stay in such a comfortable room. If he had guessed the true nature of the club, he did not mention it.

"And now, my dear sir," Stephen said to Jack, "I will see you safely home."

"Home? Oh. Ah." Jack clasped his hands and looked down at his feet, and Stephen's memory returned: Jack's stubbornly greedy landlord, Mendoza's banking agent. He had forgotten about it entirely. So that was why Jack had sought him with such tenacity.

"You may stay at The Grapes," Stephen said, taking Jack's elbow and helping him to his feet. Jack bowed to Monsieur Fontaine, who smiled and bowed in return. They left the room: down the hallway, with Jack glancing about at the pictures on the walls and the open rooms; down the stairs, where they encountered a couple who gave them knowing smiles; into the entranceway, and while they waited for Jack's hat, a young man with bright eyes stared at Jack with frank appreciation; Jack gave him a fixed smile. At last, into the street, where it was dark and chilly, and their steps rang loud on the cobblestones.

It was some while before Jack spoke, saying, "Stephen, I do not mean to pry..." He paused and left the question unasked, and Stephen was obscurely touched by Jack's unwillingness to offend. After a few moments, Jack said, "I thought it was a club for scientific chaps, you know."

"Did you now?" Stephen smiled to himself, imagining the Asopichean as a learned society.

"I should have smoked it right away had it not been for old Charles," Jack said. "He was so eager to tell me about the action off Cadiz that I didn't notice things. And I never thought that Charles was..." He fell silent: a brooding silence that lasted until they arrived at The Grapes.

Upstairs in Stephen's rooms, they made a fire and Stephen poured two glasses of a deep, mellow wine. He was pleased to see Jack relax at last, taking off his coat and hat and sitting by the fire. Stephen sipped his wine and sat on the settee and observed him. He could see why Jack had captured the attention of so many at the club: Jack was handsome in his own jolly English and battle-scarred way. His yellow hair and rosy lips made him ridiculously pretty while his bulk bespoke strength and a certain lustiness.

Helping himself to more wine, Jack said, "Your friend seemed a decent chap, though a bit foreign." This he said in a careful tone while he stared into the fire and rubbed the glass stem with his thumb.

Feeling he should move the conversation on to another topic, Stephen said, "Dear, I am terribly sorry about Mendoza's agent. We shall go there together first thing in the morning."

Jack nodded and finished his wine in one swallow. He looked at Stephen gravely. "You're a rare one for secrets, Stephen, upon my word."

Stephen steadied himself from a swift and impulsive reaction. He sat back and swirled the wine in his glass, and when he glanced up, Jack was staring at him with an open curiosity. "I had no notion of it," Jack said, slurring a little. "No notion at all. All this time sailing together, and I've never known you to go after the ship's boys." Jack gave him an unsteady smile.

"And why should I be after the ship's boys?" Stephen asked as Jack poured himself another glass of wine. This Jack drank without pause, and he set the empty glass on the table rather harder than needed. He plucked at his neckcloth until it unravelled.

"Well, as to that," Jack said, unbuttoning his collar, "I thought it was the way. We see enough of it in the Service: bosun's mates who menace the powder boys, the captain who keeps too many young servants and dresses them pretty, brutes from the forecastle who slip down to the hold for an extra wad of tobacco from a lusty purser. Shocking at first, of course, and not quite the thing. I've seen it turn ugly: jealousies, fighting, grown men weeping over hard-hearted youngsters. Sets in like rot, and then the whole ship goes mad, every man aboard pointing the finger and accusing his mates. All for a bit of buggery..." He muttered this, frowning as he unfastened the buttons on his waistcoat.

Stephen rose, shaking his head. He brought a coverlet from the bedroom and spread it over the settee. He stood beside Jack's chair, patted Jack's shoulder and said, "I do keep secrets from time to time. I am sorry if they hurt you, but it is unavoidable."

Jack looked up at him blearily. "Stephen," he said, and he grabbed Stephen's hand. "I'm brought by the lee again, ain't I? I said too much..."

Stephen almost reached out and stroked Jack's hair. He pulled his hand away and bade Jack goodnight and retreated to the bedroom. There, behind the closed door and beneath the bed covers, Stephen pondered his actions. How very strange it was that he should not deny Jack's assumptions, that he should allow Jack to think such things about him. Initially, he had believed it was to preserve the secrecy of Monsieur Fontaine's visit. But it did not seem that this was his sole reasoning. What did he care if Jack had such an unpleasant understanding of men of a certain disposition? If he was not of that disposition himself, it did not reflect upon him. Yet he felt a measure of disappointment: a wish that Jack should know that love between men did not have to become the picture of rotten corruption Jack had described.

"Love, is it?" Stephen muttered, dismayed at his own sentimentality. Men in love were rarely noble, were often quite weak and mean. Perhaps Jack was in the right of it: unchecked lusts aboard could make a ship a floating hell. But this stark and hopeless thought did not last into his restless, dreamless sleep, and when he awoke, he found that he was musing upon the vision of Jack sitting before the fire and unbuttoning his shirt.

Their morning greetings were somewhat awkward, but breakfast removed the distance between them and by the time they left The Grapes together to journey to Mendoza's agent, Jack was quite himself: jovial and pleasant and apparently unbothered by the previous night. The morning was bright and dewy, and as they walked Jack spoke of the ship and his eagerness to be at sea, and even talked of their ride to Plymouth together: there was an excellent ale-house on the way that made delicious meat-pies where they could stop for dinner.

But Stephen's attention was diverted: three rough-looking characters kept crossing their path or proceeding parallel to them on the other side of the street. Their manner was hesitant at first -- they seemed to be consulting with one another, and one of them drew a folded sheet of paper from his coat and examined it, looking up and down -- but with growing confidence, they began to walk briskly, and Stephen saw with alarm that they had split up in order to corner them.

Stephen considered for a moment. On the face of it, the threat was not so very grave, because Jack need only stay in debtors' prison until Stephen could draw the necessary amount of money to pay off Jack's debts. But the disgrace and distress to Jack caused Stephen some pain; and in the event, Stephen was not at all certain that he could draw the required amount from Mendoza's agent. Tipstaffs implied more than just a zealous landlord, and Stephen had no idea what the total of Jack's debts might amount to; Jack probably had little idea himself: he was utterly generous and freely spent well beyond his means. His passion for making money was eclipsed by his skill in ridding himself of it.

"Jack," he said, interrupting Jack's musings on double-preventer backstays, "do not be alarmed, but I believe we have been found by some tipstaffs, and we left the Liberties of the Savoy two turnings ago, may God be between us and evil. Keep walking, my dear, and after that silversmith's shop, turn left into the ill-looking alley."

"An alley, Stephen?" Jack had lost his joviality in an instant and scanned the street with a detached, wholly professional captain's eye. "No, no, they'll catch us there like rats. If only there were a carriage passing we might hail..."

"No," said Stephen firmly. "I know this alley. Trust me, please. Here is the shop, now."

They turned into the narrow squalid alley and Stephen quickly glanced behind them. The tipstaffs had not reached them yet. He darted into the doorway he knew was there, yanking Jack roughly inside after him, then pressed the door closed and dropped the bar. There was a tiny Judas hole in the door and Stephen watched from it: the men entered the alley and looked about, then ran past to reach the outlet at the other end.

"Stephen," said Jack very low, "what is this place?"

"An opium den," Stephen said, watching the alley. He could leave Jack here while he proceeded to the banking agent, but on further consideration he realised that it would not do. They were wedged together in the doorway, and Jack showed an extreme unwillingness to venture deeper into the dim, smoky room. And there were certain dangers, as Stephen had to admit, reflecting on someone of Jack's honest, open, and generous nature left alone in a place where not all of the customers were scrupulous or trustworthy. Aboard ship Stephen would never have worried -- Jack would have roused the customers and had everyone swabbing the decks or splicing cables. But on land...

"Have the men gone?" Jack asked. He turned, resting his hand on the lintel, and peered out the Judas hole. They were so close that his hat bumped against Stephen's head, and Stephen could smell Jack's sweat; he wondered if it was from fear, but Jack was very calm -- the close, almost airless room and Jack's thick broadcloth coat were the more likely cause.

"The devil of it is," said Jack after a pause, and his breath blew against Stephen's cheek, "I am sure they will be waiting for us along the Savoy border, so that as soon as we're within hailing distance of The Grapes, they'll cut athwart our hawse and take me, the wretched dogs."

Stephen stared out the tiny hole into the now empty alley and agreed with Jack. Where to find a refuge, a safe haven...? Immediately Monsieur Fontaine and the Asopichean came to mind. With a hasty glance at Jack, Stephen said, "There is another place where you can hide until I have the money, but how to get you there?" He turned and looked about the smoky room, then with a slight smile called for Shang Li, the proprietor, a most learned and polite gentleman.

\-----

Jack did not think much of Stephen's plan -- it was the sort of wild and unbelievable thing one saw in a pantomime or opera -- but he had to admit as he felt the cart rumble beneath him that it was working. The bumpy uneven streets sent him pitching against the basket's lid and walls, and the linens around him were quite suffocating, but he bore it all with a growing admiration for Stephen's ingenuity -- until the cart came to an abrupt stop. Steeling himself for discovery -- a fight -- the inevitable yells and threats from the tipstaffs and their rough lads -- he was unprepared for the heavy rolling and drop that nearly upset the lid. He grabbed it to keep it fast and heard rapid and complaining Chinese voices above him as the basket was lifted and slowly carried forward, swaying. With a thud it was dropped onto a hard surface -- and Jack had no cushion beneath to lessen the impact -- then the voices moved off and disappeared.

Jack waited for a long time, listening. He heard voices very far off, and could tell from various sounds and the stillness around him that he was inside. There was nothing for it but to assume that Stephen's plan had worked. Disentangling himself from the linens he pushed the lid upward until it slid off, then lifted his head clear of the basket. He was in a large clean kitchen, facing the back of a maid who was bent over scrubbing the floor boards. Hunching his shoulders until he could clear his arms from the basket, Jack gripped the rim and tried to heave himself free. The basket tipped over; the linens spilled across the floor and Jack spilled with them; now he was looking up at the shocked and angry face of the maid, standing with her fists on her hips. Writhing until he was free of the basket, Jack stood up, bowed to her, and said, "Good day to you, miss. I am Captain Aubrey, and I am to ask you to take this note to the doorman of the house, if you please. And here is a penny for your troubles," he added, pulling Stephen's note and the penny from his pocket. The girl ran off, shrieking for Patterson.

Jack waited, rubbing his backside -- the drop had been rather sharp -- and bending down to retrieve his hat. It had been cruelly crushed in the basket, wedged behind his knees. He was trying to bend it back into shape when a man came rushing in, angrily demanding to know what was going on. He stopped short when Jack looked up, and Jack saw it was indeed Patterson, the doorman with the kind smile.

"Oh!" said Patterson, his eyes widening. Then he regained his composure and took the note Jack held out. As he read it, he shook his head a little and made a sympathetic sound. "Oh, you poor man. A most trying time, I am sure. We shall be delighted to honour Mr Stephen's request, of course," he said. "If you will follow me, sir." He led Jack through the library and parlour, now mostly empty, and up the stairs. "Forgive me, sir, but I take it you would like a separate room? That is, you are not staying with Mr Stephen's other guest?" He put a particular emphasis on _other_ and cast Jack a commiserating look.

Jack was about to answer that it would be fine, no trouble at all to berth with the foreign gentleman, then quickly recollected himself and said a separate room would be more fitting. Patterson nodded wisely and said, "Just so. Here we are then." He unlocked the door and handed Jack the key. "A very fine room, one of our best. I think you shall find it quite comfortable." He smiled and added, "There is a bell-pull if you require any service and of course the rooms downstairs are always open to our gentlemen and guests." Jack, whose smile had wavered on Patterson's rather leering reference to _service_, simply thanked him before closing the door.

The room was very comfortable: it was a bedroom done in a dark wine red. There was a sitting area by the window which overlooked the back of the house into a small courtyard. Jack took off his coat and sat by the window, watching a housemaid beat the dirt out of a carpet while two ragged dogs chased each other and played.

"Why was I so ready to berth with Stephen's fellow?" he asked himself, and even as the question left his lips, the answer formed in his mind. He had no facts or proof, but he had his knowledge of Stephen and his observations of them together the previous night -- and he was convinced that Stephen and the foreign gentleman were not intimate. Friends they might be, although even so Stephen had seemed remarkably reserved around the man; perhaps theirs was a friendship of convenience -- sharing a certain interest, as one might say, and Stephen had simply shown the man some hospitality and safe places of association. Like taking one of his scientific friends round to the Royal College to watch a surgery.

With this conviction, Jack felt a warm and relaxing peace of mind. It was a handsome, welcoming room, and the tipstaffs would never think to find him here, he reflected with a low chuckle. Brilliant idea of Stephen's. All he had to do was wait for Stephen to see his banking agent, then all would be well: he and Stephen could be off for Plymouth before the next tide. It would be pleasant to share a chaise with Stephen on the way, and then they would sail together, which Jack enjoyed most of all. He remembered Stephen's thrill at the spray of a great bow-wave, and his delight in spotting curious birds: these thoughts made Jack happy. Easy in his mind and somewhat weary, Jack took off his neckcloth and shoes and stretched out on the bed for a nap.

At sea, the only sure way of waking Jack was a change in the wind; on land hunger usually accomplished what a wind could not, and Jack opened his eyes longing for sausages and a good stout ale. By the light from the window he guessed it was just shy of noon and was surprised that Stephen had not returned, though in course banking could be such a tedious and drawn-out affair. While Jack lay there thinking of sausages and immovable bankers, a steady muffled knocking sound caught his ear. It was not the door: it was coming from the wall behind the bed. Jack could name all the sounds at sea: the knocks and groans and creaking of the ship, the whine and hum and screech of the rigging, the bells, whistles, calls, feet upon planking, waves against the hull. But this sound he could not name at first: until below the steady knocking there came a long low moan, a distinctly male moan, and the rhythm of the knocking steadily increased to a tempo that could not be other than instantly familiar.

"Upon my word," said Jack, sitting up quickly and staring at the wall. His cheeks flushed with warmth and he turned away demurely, though of course the chaps could not know he heard them. Or did not care, he reflected, since the knocking had become louder and it did not seem possible that the fellows were unaware that their bed was hitting the wall.

At this rate, he thought, cheeks now burning, it could not last much longer, but it showed no signs of stopping. Jack left the bed, paced the room once, paused and listened, felt the warmth spread from his cheeks to the back of his neck, stepped into his shoes and grabbed the key and went downstairs. _Perhaps Stephen will be arriving_, he thought as he neared the bottom of the stairwell -- but the entranceway was empty.

The parlour, however, was not, and the handful of men who were there -- three talking in a corner and another three sitting at a card table drinking wine -- glanced at him as he took the last step. Most looked away -- not unkindly, but without recognition -- but two fellows at the card table watched him as he walked through to the library. As he passed their table, Jack realised he had forgotten his coat: saw it would not matter in this place.

In the library there was only an elderly gentleman sitting alone at a table with an open book in front of him. He had fallen asleep but his soft snores were not disturbing. Jack could order neither sausages nor ale, but was happy enough with the superb Stilton and a light sherry. He was distracted -- the rhythmic sound of the knocking upstairs seemed to stay with him, and with it an intense memory or sense of Stephen that he dared not contemplate: it was improper, disturbing. Jack sipped his wine, and to occupy his thoughts he inspected the bookcase -- a variety of authors, many of them classical. He pulled down a small volume of Shakespeare's tragedies and leafed through it to find _Hamlet_, which he had never properly read though he had acted in it to great acclaim. He stood there reading and sipping his sherry and after a while perceived that he was not alone. He looked up hoping it was Stephen and saw with disappointment that it was not, although there was something familiar about the shortish young man with very bright eyes smiling at him.

"I prefer his comedies myself," said the young man with a nod at the book. Jack must have looked blank, for next he said, "Charles introduced us last night. I'm Jonathan. You're Jack, I believe?"

"Yes," said Jack with a slight bow. "Jack Aub--"

Jonathan touched his arm. "We don't usually give our last names here, Jack," he said, lowering his voice. "They're so formal, don't you find? And we're all friends here. Ah, you were reading _Hamlet_, I see. There was a fine performance of it last year. Were you there?"

"No. I'm sorry to say I've never seen it on stage, on a proper stage that is."

Jonathan gave him a questioning smile, one eyebrow raised slightly, and Jack remembered him from last night. A friend of Charles's, although Jack couldn't recall what Charles had said about him. A fine-looking man with an easy manner. For the briefest of moments he wondered if Charles and Jonathan had been intimate friends, but it was a low and vulgarly inquisitive thought and he let it pass. "No," Jack said again, "I've never seen it, but I acted in it once. I was Ophelia."

Jonathan's smile twitched very slightly and he cocked his head a little. "Oh. I see."

"Yes," said Jack, closing the book and replacing it. He smiled at the memory. "I was the only one who could sing, do you see? I'm pleased to say I got called back three times."

"I'm sure you did," said Jonathan in a murmur. "Do you know, I came in here to see if I could convince François to make me some of his little cakes -- delicious things with marchpane, very satisfying with tea. Do you take tea, Jack?"

"I prefer coffee," Jack said politely.

"Coffee!" cried Jonathan, touching his arm again. "Oh, you are a man after my own heart. Then by all means, let us have coffee and some of those delicious cakes. François! François!" And gently steering Jack to an empty table, he said, "Never fret yourself about the bill, sir: it is a pleasure to make a new friend, wouldn't you agree? Besides," he added, giving Jack a considering look, "if I do not mistake, you're a card-playing man, are you not?"

"Well," said Jack with a chuckle, pleased by Jonathan's natural friendliness, "I do play cards from time to time."

Jonathan grinned and sat down at the table. "Then it is all settled. We'll play a friendly game or two after our coffee, and you can tell me all about playing Ophelia."

\-----

"Suspicious-minded arrogant venal vampiric sour little brutes," Stephen muttered as he left the banking agent's office, stepped into a puddle, and perceived that it was raining. He huddled in his coat as much as he could, but after a few minutes' walk gave himself over to being soaked. It was a sudden rain, a shower that opened up from a sunny afternoon sky, and by the time it ended Stephen was sopping wet and cold, for the sun was too low to pierce through the smoky London haze.

Since he would pass near The Grapes on his way to Cleves Street, he decided to stop and change his coat. And there he found a message from Sir Joseph waiting for him: Stephen could not return directly to the Asopichean and rescue Jack, for Sir Joseph had asked him to call. When he arrived at the discreet green door in the rear of the Admiralty, he was expected and shown into Sir Joseph's office after the shortest of waits. Still, Stephen was not in the best of moods, and it was not until Sir Joseph had offered him a glass of wine and toasted "Confusion to Buonaparte" with him that Stephen was influenced by Sir Joseph's good humour.

"This," said Sir Joseph, patting the thick silk-wrapped parcel Monsieur Fontaine had brought them, "is as fine a weapon as one of your friend Aubrey's carronades. Will do more damage, too, I dare say." He finished his glass and passed the parcel across his desk to Stephen. "I stayed up most of the night decoding it. Very pretty work, and more lethal than we had supposed."

"I am heartily glad to hear it," said Stephen, leafing through the contents with professional interest. "So there will be no trouble securing the good Monsieur Fontaine's passage to Nova Scotia, at all?"

"No, and that is why I sent for you. There is a packet leaving for Nova Scotia from the Nore this evening, and I have all of his papers ready." He handed Stephen another parcel, this one wrapped in oil-cloth. "It would be best if he takes to his cabin with sea-sickness as soon as they are underway -- that is, even if he doesn't need to. I don't know if he is much of a sailor."

"From our conversation yesterday, I believe he is not, but I will impress upon him the need for staying in his cabin as much as possible."

"Good, good," said Sir Joseph, taking the silk-wrapped parcel and patting it again. "A carriage will take you to the club from here, and will wait for the monsieur to take him to the Nore. I've arranged for one of our quiet, strong gentlemen" -- Stephen knew he meant a guard, probably a Marine dressed as a civilian -- "to accompany him, just in case. One can never be too careful."

"No, indeed," said Stephen, tucking Fontaine's papers into his pocket and rising. "Then I find I must go without the loss of a minute, as you say."

Sir Joseph rose, summoned a secretary and called for the carriage. "But my dear Maturin, I hope that when Monsieur Fontaine is safely away, I will have the pleasure of seeing you at the Royal Society lecture tonight."

Stephen had forgotten about the lecture but found he was not very disappointed in missing it: beetles were Sir Joseph's passion, and Stephen's interest in them was not as keen. "Alas," he said, "I fear not. I have left Captain Aubrey at the Asopichean, away from the blackguard tipstaffs who hound his every step, and I must see to his cares."

"Captain Aubrey at the Asopichean?" cried Sir Joseph, his eyebrows rising to his scalp. Then he chuckled low and with a cunning look said, "That was a neat stroke, I am sure. Nearly as safe there as in the Liberties of the Savoy, if I do not mistake. More hidden from view, in any event. Well, I shall miss you at the lecture, but perhaps the next one... Oh, I was forgetting: you and Aubrey sail very shortly, do you not? Yes, yes, of course. Godspeed, then."

Once settled in the carriage, Stephen relaxed and let the weariness of the day overtake him. He was immensely pleased with Monsieur Fontaine's weapon now in their hands, and with the speed and efficiency of Sir Joseph in arranging Fontaine's passage: the sooner Fontaine left London, the better his chances for a complete escape into safety. At this Stephen's mind turned to Jack. He would be quite safe at the club: even in the unlikely event that the tipstaffs followed him there, Patterson would never let them inside and never let Jack outside into their hands. No, there the only source of danger would be the men who naturally assumed Jack was at the club as a man with similar tastes and therefore open to be approached. But it was only a danger if Jack left the room Stephen had requested for him, and Stephen did not imagine that Jack would.

It was, therefore, somewhat of a shock when Stephen entered the Asopichean and saw Jack sitting at a card table with three other men, several men standing around the table watching. Jack was the centre of their attention, and Stephen could easily see why: Jack was in very high spirits, rosy and jolly and laughing; he had opened the collar of his shirt so that his neck was quite bare, and most surprisingly of all he had untied his hair so that it fell in great thick golden waves down his back and over his shoulders. With another jolt Stephen noticed that Jack had tied his black hair ribbon around his knee like a garter. At this moment Jack let out a small roar of delight, lifted his cards high, and drank off his glass of wine. The man sitting to his right -- a young slim dark-haired man in a light blue coat -- poured him another, leaned close and touched Jack's shoulder said something which made Jack laugh.

Stephen climbed the stairs for Fontaine's room, vaguely annoyed that Jack had not noticed him come in. "And he's far from any immediate danger, so he is," Stephen said to himself. For a moment an ignoble, half-formed suspicion troubled him -- he remembered James Dillon once accusing Captain Aubrey of using Mr Marshall's infatuation with him to his advantage -- but he dismissed it before it could take shape. Upon reflection he realised that Jack had met these men as he did any other man -- openly and without suspicion or distrust -- in an environment conducive to friendliness and good will. And upon the whole the members of the Asopichean were generous and receptive to new acquaintances, and it was not so startling that they should welcome Jack or that Jack should find pleasure in their welcome. Although it did not explain why Jack had let his hair down, Stephen thought with a mean hostility which surprised him.

Monsieur Fontaine was reclining on the bed reading a book by candlelight when Stephen entered. He was happy to see Stephen, and happier still when Stephen produced his papers and told him of the waiting carriage and the packet for Nova Scotia. Fontaine's few belongings -- only one rather small bag, the poor man -- were already packed. Stephen sent for Patterson and arranged for some food for Monsieur Fontaine's journey, and escorted him to the carriage.

"God bless you, sir," said Monsieur Fontaine, kissing Stephen's cheeks, and then he was safely inside the carriage with his guard. The driver flicked the reins and the carriage moved off into the night. Stephen went inside, noted Patterson's speculative look, and stepped into the parlour where Jack's voice boomed at him, "Stephen! There you are!"

Stephen strode to the table and stood by stiffly, unconcerned by the openly curious looks he was given, especially by the man in the light blue coat. Stephen recognised him as the bright-eyed young man who had admired Jack the night before, and Jack introduced him as Jonathan. "And this is George, and beside him is George, another George I mean, and," Jack said, turning about to the men standing around the table, "Edward and Clarence and Philip. And this is my very dear friend Stephen Ma-- Stephen, that is to say."

Stephen bowed and was met with a polite friendliness he felt owed much more to Jack than to his own appearance. He was convinced of it when he next caught Jonathan's look -- a rueful glance from Jack to Stephen and a slight smile that seemed to say _oh, you lucky dog_. Stephen watched them playing cards -- pondered the flower drooping from a buttonhole in Jack's waistcoat -- and mused that, yes, he was quite lucky in this particular friendship, as improbably as it had started and as improbably as it had continued. They were as unlike as two men could possibly be, but far from hindering their friendship, this had made them more certain in their affection... Stephen noticed with dismay that Jack had just lost all of his meagre winnings.

"Jack," he said, lightly squeezing Jack's shoulder. "I should like a private word with you when you have a moment to spare."

"Eh?" Jack glanced up at him. "Oh, yes, yes. Of course. Gentlemen, you will excuse me, I'm sure -- especially as you have emptied my pockets, or rather regained your own pockets as mine were empty to begin with, ha ha," he said, rising. "Clarence, old soul, you'll take my chair, won't you?" He took his leave and followed Stephen up the stairs.

"You have made new friends, I find," Stephen observed, and wondered at the hint of prim reserve in his voice. He added with sincerity, "I am glad that it has not been an unpleasant day for you."

"Not at all," said Jack with a laugh. "Fine chaps: honest, friendly, no damned purser's tricks, no topping it the knob. Witty, too." They reached the room and Jack opened the door and lit a lantern. "George and George are, well, very close friends I should say, and I spoke before I thought and said it must be dashed confusing, they having the same name. 'Oh no,' said one of the Georges, 'we always sleep on the same side of the bed,' by which I took him to mean that they--"

"Yes. No doubt," Stephen interrupted him. "But I must confess I was surprised to see you playing cards." He sat down at the dark window.

Jack's smile faded and he looked abashed, and Stephen regretted speaking so sharply. Jack stood by the window and said, "Well, yes, I suppose I ought not to have, but Jonathan put in my share, said it was not at all an imposition, and I had won quite a bit before I lost it. Dear chap. He bought my dinner for me, and our coffee, and some wine..."

"I see."

Jack gave Stephen a stern look and sat down. "Of course I will repay him," said Jack. Stephen wondered viciously what kind of repayment Jonathan would seek, but said nothing. Something of his suspicions must have crossed his face, for Jack said, "It was not at all... There was nothing low about him. A fine gentlemanly chap. One could almost forget about him being... Well, that is to say..." Jack looked at Stephen anxiously. Stephen got up -- found he was quite restless of a sudden -- and rang for some port. As Stephen poured their glasses, Jack said quietly, "Though now I think of it, he did say I was handsome."

"Yes, well, you are beautiful in your own rubious and corpulent way," said Stephen, handing him a glass. "Now tell me how you came to look so surprising: your hair down, that flower in your waistcoat, your ribbon for a garter." He sat down, and Jack looked at him for long moment, quiet and thoughtful, before answering.

"Oh, that was the Shakespeare," he said carelessly, taking a sip of port. "I sang my part, and George thought I should have a flower. I didn't want to lose my ribbon, so Jonathan tied it around my leg. Listen, Stephen, they're very fine men, and I see I've had the wrong idea about some things. No doubt it's like sea officers: some of them are wicked evil dogs with black hearts intent on making your life a misery, and some are brave and upstanding and compassionate souls who will stand by you when the battle comes to close quarters. And to judge the whole of them by the acquaintance of a few was most unfair. I'm genuinely sorry for what I said last night."

Jack was so sincere, looked as if his hopes might be dashed at the first hard word, and Stephen drank his port to counter the urge he had to squeeze Jack's hand. "Never let it bother you, my dear," he said, rising. "Shall I tie your hair back for you, now?"

"That would be very kind, thankee, Stephen," Jack said, pulling the ribbon free from his knee and handing it to Stephen.

Stephen gathered Jack's hair in his hands, combing it with his fingers to bring it straight, and admired the way it gleamed gold when caught by the light. It was thick and soft, and he caressed it to bring the wayward strands back and start the plait. Jack reached over his shoulder and grasped Stephen's hand. Stephen paused for a moment, slid his fingers free and steadied them, and drew Jack's hair back into heavy locks and twisted them together. When the plait was finished, Stephen tied it with a neat bow and smiled with satisfaction at his handiwork.

"There, it is done," he said, patting Jack's shoulders and bending down to kiss his cheek. A quick, thoughtless, unimportant gesture, but it disturbed Stephen greatly as soon it was done. He dropped his hands from Jack's shoulders and stood there, staring at Jack and unable to guess what his reaction would be.

There was no reaction: Jack had fallen asleep. The empty wine glass was limp in his fingers, and his head tilted forward slightly. Stephen moved the glass from his hand to safety, went to the bed and sat on the foot of it, and watched him, thinking.

\-----

The room was dark, lit by one low-burning candle, when Jack woke up. He sat up straight and rubbed his neck and saw that across from him Stephen was sitting in the chair -- or rather, huddled in it. He had taken off his coat, waistcoat, neckcloth and shoes, and his breeches were unbuckled at the knees. He sat sideways in the chair with his feet resting on the seat and his head leaning against the back and his arms round his knees. His eyes were closed, but Jack did not think he was asleep.

Jack watched him for a while, finding that his thoughts were tangled and it was difficult to sort them: but the one strand running through them all, the one strand which he could pluck clear, was Stephen. How much they shared, despite their differences, and how insignificant those differences seemed when in other men, he reflected, they might prove insurmountable.

"Stephen, why do you not take the bed?"

Stephen opened his eyes; he had not been sleeping. He looked at Jack but didn't answer. Jack thought of Stephen's hands in his hair -- how soothing it had felt. How simple, among the many things Stephen had ever done for him: stitching him up, lending him money, hiding him from tipstaffs -- yet of all these things that simple touch had seemed the most easy and natural. He wished he could speak of it in some way: say what was in his mind and get Stephen's opinion on it all. But he saw that this would be a difficult, if not impossible, conversation between them so he said nothing and to hide his confusion he smiled.

Stephen softly smiled back and said, "You are my guest: the bed is for you. And you fell asleep before I could tell you -- Mendoza's banking agent, the villainous Hun, would not give me more than a hundred pounds without instructions from Barcelona, and that after the most tedious negotiations. I was obliged to shake my fist at him, so I was."

Jack's smile broadened; he could well imagine the scene. "Why, as to that, it will settle with my landlord and there will be enough to travel to Plymouth comfortably."

"But the tipstaffs? Surely a hundred pounds isn't enough to settle all your debts?"

Jack looked down at his hands. This was very true, but he could not ask Stephen for the whole amount. He doubted Stephen even possessed the whole amount. "Well, no," he admitted. "It's not. But it's enough for the immediate concern, and do you see? Tomorrow is Saturday, and I will stay out of sight here, then it is Sunday and we can travel and they can't touch me. It will be as easy as kiss my hand."

Stephen sat up and stretched his arms and legs. "But your great haste?" he said. "I distinctly remember that you said, 'not a moment to lose'. Two days are lost already."

"Naturally I want to get aboard as soon as possible," said Jack. "I can't be hauled off to debtors' row once I'm aboard. But she won't be ready to sail for another week. This delay won't make any difference for our sailing."

Stephen narrowed his eyes. "Sure, I perceive the immediate urgency, but I will remember after this, Captain Aubrey, that the call for haste is not always strictly naval -- not always related to the tides."

Jack chuckled. "There are many reasons why a man might be eager to put to sea. And I thank you very kindly for the loan -- for everything," he said earnestly, looking at Stephen.

Stephen sat back in his chair, yawning and waving away Jack's thanks. "It is nothing... a pittance... And I shall win it off you the next time we play piquet." He scratched his bristly jaw and observed, "Staying here another day will give you more time with your new friends."

This was as close to a word of caution as Stephen would make, but Jack needed nothing more. "I will keep away from the card tables," he promised with a smile and yawned. "Though now I think of it, you might have a game or two, you being so uncommon lucky at cards. With a few hundred extra I could lay in some stores. We could have some feasts at sea."

"I might," Stephen said without any discernible conviction, and Jack amused himself imagining Stephen winning heaps of money... the looks of astonishment around the table... his cheerful pride in Stephen as Stephen produced the triumphant hand to Jonathan... It occurred to him that Stephen's unspoken caution might have another aim.

"I tell you what it is: I cannot credit that Jonathan might have been, well, pursuing me," he said, noticing how Stephen took on a detached, unconcerned look. "But I may have missed the signs. I've missed quite a few things, I fear." Jack thought again of Stephen saying he was beautiful; the recollection of it would keep returning. "No doubt you're better at spotting these things than I..."

"Jack." Stephen furrowed his brow and looked down at his hands. "Things are not always what they appear to be. It is like the great rush to put to sea: a man might have many different reasons for what he does or says, or for where he is."

It seemed that Stephen was saying that Jonathan had not been pursuing him -- or perhaps saying that he had been. Jack yawned hugely, too tired to follow his meaning. He rose, took off his waistcoat, and held out his hand for Stephen. "Come," said Jack. "To bed."

Stephen stared at him, unblinking and wary. Jack rested his hands on his hips. "If I had never discovered the nature of this club, or if we were in another club, or an inn, and there was only one bed -- and a prodigious great bed it is -- there would be no question of us sharing, am I correct?"

After a moment's hesitation Stephen gave him a particular smile. "You are correct," he said, standing.

Of course he was correct, Jack thought as they got into bed in their shirts and small clothes, backs to each other, the room quite dark and still. He lay there yawning and waiting for sleep, thinking of Stephen's hands stroking his hair. Stephen had said he was beautiful: this thought followed him into sleep.

A light, capricious sleep, however: not his usual immediate plunge into complete unconsciousness, and at some point in the night he had lain there with his eyes closed for what he supposed was half a bell before he confessed to himself he was not asleep; neither was Stephen. They lay back to back, and there was a rigidness to their postures -- an obvious attempt not to move -- that Jack could sense and wonder about as he stayed immobile with his eyes closed. And he was not surprised -- indeed, there seemed to be an inevitability about it -- when the muffled knocking against the wall began. A wordless question formed in Jack's mind: Stephen, what the knocking signified, Stephen with a man... Jack brushed it aside as grossly improper and impertinent.

After a moment Stephen sat up and cried, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

Jack rolled onto his back and sighed. "It may be some while," he said, his cheeks burning. He was glad he could not see Stephen in the dark.

"This is not a brothel," Stephen muttered. "Although in truth, I was not asleep though I am so tired."

"A game of piquet?" Jack suggested.

Stephen lit a lantern by the bed. "A game of piquet with all my heart. Then you will be even more indebted to me, brother," he said with a smug but endearing leer.

Jack rose and threw on his breeches and took a candle with him, expecting the downstairs parlour to be deserted and dark. It was very quiet, but not deserted -- two men sat on a sofa by the fireplace, talking low. A serious conversation -- they did not even notice Jack as he went to one of the tables to gather the cards, and they did not look up when he climbed the stairs. He cast another look at them, mildly curious: were they friends? acquaintances? lovers? He could not tell, and the ambiguity troubled him for a brief moment before he discovered that it was peculiarly reassuring.

Jack and Stephen played cards on the bed, and it was not until well into their game that Jack wondered why they had not moved to the chairs and table. Although for his part he was quite content to stay where he was: sitting with his legs stretched out and leaning against a pillow propped against one of the posters at the foot of the bed. Stephen lounged at the head of the bed and between them spread the cards and their glasses of port. Although there had seemed to be an unspoken understanding that as soon as the knocking next door ceased they would end their game and retire to sleep, this in fact did not happen: long after the room was utterly silent they played. On and on until Jack started winning despite making some shocking blunders, the game growing slower and slower. And finally Stephen did not respond, and when Jack looked up Stephen was curled along the pillow, quite asleep. He watched Stephen for some moments, and a warm gentleness filled his heart.

Jack gathered the cards and glasses and set them aside, turned down the lantern and stretched out next to Stephen: their heads were quite close. Jack was weary but was not certain that sleep would come -- yet there was something peaceful about Stephen's even breathing and unguardedness. Jack had time to notice the lulling peace but could think no more of it before he was deep asleep.

Daylight and hunger woke him. Strong morning light flooded through the window: they had not thought to close the shutters the night before. Jack opened his eyes and Stephen was watching him, his face very close: the distance of a pillow between them. For a moment Jack said nothing: he could not voice his immediate thoughts which ran from _This should feel more unusual_ to _The light warms the paleness of his eyes... how pretty they are... how odd I never noticed_ with the briefest hesitation.

"Good morning to you, now," Stephen said, and his lips shaped the words as if to smile, but he wasn't quite smiling.

"Good morning, Stephen." Jack smiled at him. "I am most uncommon hungry, I find."

Stephen smiled at that. "Then we shall find you breakfast. Let us rise and journey downstairs."

Neither of them moved for a long long moment: they watched each other, but not with any wariness or discomfort, Jack reflected. He felt a confused urge to act, to do something or say something, but had no notion what; his confusion frustrated and dismayed him. He was not accustomed to indecision. Stephen shifted, and for a breathless minuscule span of time Jack believed that he was moving closer, that he would do or say whatever it was Jack could not; a tiny tense thrill. Stephen sat up and got out of bed. Relief. Disappointment. In equal measure? Perhaps not, Jack admitted candidly.

After they dressed and shaved -- Stephen had sent for a basin and razor -- they went downstairs and alone in the library had a modest, plain breakfast. They spoke little, but this was not remarkable, Jack thought, remembering their breakfasts aboard ship. He could not discern any reservation in Stephen's manner -- but Stephen was thoughtful, musing to himself, and when he rose and declared that he must attend to some errands, Jack felt vaguely adrift. With an unfamiliar subtle anxiety he watched Stephen depart: Jack wished with all his heart that they were at sea, where he was never confused.

\-----

Stephen made short work of his errands: paying Jack's landlord and reclaiming Jack's sea-chest, which he had sent to Cleves Street; arranging the chaise to Plymouth for the morrow; and seeing to his own belongings -- his various chests for medicines and specimens and books and clothes -- which he also had sent to the club. Then he spent the rest of the morning walking alone and following no particular path: initially to lose the tipstaffs who had been watching The Grapes but long after they had fallen away he continued his walk, absorbed in his thoughts.

It was absurd. He had very nearly kissed Jack this morning: kissed him in bed. Such a rash ill-considered ill-favoured and dangerous action... It could be nothing but absurd weakness, ridiculous fancies, ungoverned emotions. And it did not -- should not -- matter that Jack had seemed willing. There was little doubt at Jack's expectant, yearning look: Stephen had seen it before, when Jack had admired unassigned twelve-pounders in the shipyards or had waited for the offer of a third slice of spotted dog during a wardroom dinner. Though indeed, as Stephen had to admit, Jack's look had been the immediate source of temptation: a strong, strong temptation that even now haunted Stephen.

The kiss on the cheek had been nothing: insignificant, unnoticed. Very like the greetings men exchanged every day in some countries. Yet Stephen was aware that the impulse behind had not been perfectly innocent although it had been curiously pure. A simple affection, that was all; and after all his meanderings, on foot and otherwise, when he reached the steps of the Asopichean, Stephen thought that it was not very startling, no tremendous revelation, that he loved Jack Aubrey. The surprise, the unexpected, was that he desired Jack. Love and desire were not always so entangled; but here all the qualities he loved in Jack -- his happiness, his good humour, his generosity, his strength, his open nature, his rough beauty -- stirred a warmth and longing: the desire to share of it all.

It was afternoon when Stephen entered the club. Stephen glanced at the parlour, taking particular notice of the card players, before checking the library. Jack's naval friend Charles was there with another man -- Charles smiled and greeted Stephen with the ease of an old friend: an old friend by extension, from his supposed intimacy with Jack. After exchanging polite pleasantries, Stephen went upstairs and found Jack sitting by the window watching the courtyard below. He did not turn when Stephen came inside, and his stillness -- a seriousness without gravity -- was compelling. A study for a portrait, Stephen thought and hoped he would remember this picture until the end of his days.

Jack sat back to reach for his cup of coffee, saw Stephen and said, "God love you, Stephen, you're as quiet as a cat. I suppose you've been standing there this last age." He poured Stephen a cup. "You've been busy today," he said, nodding at their collection of chests and boxes in the corner.

Stephen took the cup from him, sipped the strong noble brew, and drew his chair next to the window. "What entertainment in the courtyard? A fair maid with a bright eye and quick step?"

Jack smiled and said, "To be honest I was watching the wind. In the sheets there. Rather like sails. Light and variable now, but it may come on to blow tonight. If we were at sea I should certainly say so, but on land, especially in the city, it is so different."

Stephen sipped his coffee and when it was finished he said, "You long to be at sea. Not just to escape your creditors."

"Yes. Yes, I do." Jack looked down at his cup, then his gaze -- bright amused blue eyes -- caught Stephen's and he said, "Shall I tell you what else I long for?"

Stephen didn't breathe for a moment; was motionless, and could not look away. "Yes, do," he said when he could master his voice.

"My dinner," Jack said with a chuckle.

At dinner Jack ordered the duck, and Stephen, who had recovered his sensibility, contented himself by pointing out the dangers of duck to a man of Jack's constitution. Apoplexy a near certainty; if not apoplexy, a general depression of spirits, for duck was a sad fowl; and Stephen would not answer for Jack's stomach after that rich wine sauce. Jack smiled sweetly at him before each serving.

After dinner they met Jack's friend Charles in the parlour. Jack and Charles discussed naval matters while Stephen smoked a cigar and observed them. Jack's uneasiness from the other evening had left him entirely: he sat with Charles as an old friend -- cheerful amiable company. Stephen left them and went upstairs, ordered wine, and read until Jack returned and brought out the cards. They played quiet, distracted games -- Stephen knew he was making mistake after mistake and was irritated with himself; though Jack's pleasure at winning was particularly charming. They didn't talk much, but Stephen would watch Jack, or would notice Jack watching him, as if in a conversation, a significant conversation.

When he was quite weary, Stephen went to bed and was half-asleep when the bed dipped under Jack's weight. Comforted by the closeness, Stephen slept easily and deeply -- but at dawn woke suddenly, out of a dream he could not recall. Jack was beside him: awake and looking down at him, softly smiling. Sleepy and cross, Stephen did not appreciate the smile, and would have said so but Jack touched his jaw and kissed him: a soft sweet warm kiss. Stephen placed his hand on Jack's shoulder and returned the kiss, and when they broke apart he said, "This is ridiculous."

"I dare say," said Jack, and kissed him again.

They embraced; Stephen kissed him deeply; the kiss returned, repeated. "Absurdity," said Stephen. "Nonsense."

"Yes," Jack agreed, and they kissed again: many times before they rested in each other's arms.

"Jack, I must say this: I am not... I belong to this club because it is quiet, secret, but hospitable. It has been useful for me, but you are not to assume..."

"Shhhh." Jack pressed his lips to Stephen's temple and brushed his fingers through Stephen's hair, and Stephen found that the words he had prepared to say, the protest and explanation, flew away, unsaid. Quite easy in Jack's embrace, Stephen had not the inclination or conviction to feel very shocked or upset. He sighed against Jack's shoulder and watched the weak daylight progress through gaps in the shutters.

\-----

It was, of course, absurd; but for the first time since he had encountered Stephen at the club, Jack was perfectly comfortable. He had spent most of the day alone, thinking of Stephen and reflecting on their friendship, determined to overcome his missish confusion. He had loved Stephen from the moment they had first met: this Jack had known very well -- but now there was a tenderness he had not expected, an affection he could only describe as warm, rising out of the tangle his thoughts had become since learning of the club's nature. It made perfect sense, and this settled Jack's spirit to a calm he had not felt for days. The evening had passed so enjoyably with Stephen that Jack almost felt that nothing had changed except his recognition of the bond between them.

And so he had not expected to act: he had not expected the kiss. It had come so naturally, after watching Stephen sleep and seeing him wake, forbidding yet oddly fetching: rumpled and tired, and his lips had looked very soft. And they had been.

It had come so naturally, and it did so again: kiss after kiss. And somewhere in Jack's mind as they embraced and kissed he perceived that his assumptions about Stephen might have been mistaken. There was both a hesitation and a desperate welcoming response that bespoke a prior lack of indulgence. But it was no matter: Jack was neither curious nor concerned. Stephen returned his kisses and held him, and it was all a sweet mystery -- nonsense, perhaps, but such wonderful nonsense.

Stephen had closed his eyes but was not asleep. Jack kissed the top of Stephen's head, and Stephen opened his eyes with a sigh and said, "The chaise..."

"Yes. Soon." And Jack had never imagined he would regret this rapid passage of time -- how the minutes were lost.

"The ship," said Stephen, stirring. "Oh, Jack, the ship."

"The ship wants another week before we sail. Take a room in Plymouth, and next Sunday I will visit for dinner," said Jack reasonably, although in truth it was hard to feel reasonable with such strong emotions roiling inside him: a longing to stay like this forever; sad regret that they could not; and the keenest anticipation of the rest of their days together, ashore or at sea -- the sweetest mystery of all was the future, not the past or present.

"Take a room," said Stephen in a low voice, and he looked cross again: cross and fetching. Jack kissed him. Stephen returned the kiss and no longer cross he said, "This is madness, my dear. Let us stop, now, and leave this place with our pleasant memories."

There was a falseness to his voice which would have annoyed Jack if he had taken it seriously. He said nothing but lightly touched Stephen's lips with his fingertips; when Stephen sighed against them, Jack sensed the moment was won and the tide had turned. Stephen gazed at him -- Jack could summon no name for the pale shade of his eyes but wondered at the warmth in them; the shrewdness and the slightly exasperated amusement he recognised very well, however.

"I believe, my dear Stephen, there will be many more pleasant memories to come." He kissed Stephen's cheek, and Stephen kissed his fingertips. "But first we must produce them," Jack murmured against Stephen's ear. Lazy and easy in each other's arms, they waited for the chaise to come to carry them to Plymouth, the ship, the sea, and the future.

(the end)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] More Certain in Affection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813100) by [Luzula (Luzula_podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula_podfic/pseuds/Luzula)




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